


Fledgling

by AvocadoLove



Series: Our Sins [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Child Tony, Gen, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Possible emotional abuse, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Zola is creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 19:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5598844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvocadoLove/pseuds/AvocadoLove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years before Tony Stark was taken hostage by Bucky Barnes, they met in a hidden basement of a HYDRA facility. Tony was seven years old, the Winter Soldier was firmly under Howard's control, and neither one remembers it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fledgling

**Author's Note:**

> This is a stand-alone one shot set in the 'Sins of the Father' universe. It'll probably help to read that fic first before this one.
> 
> Also, there's _some_ kind of child abuse going on here. Emotional, I guess? Howard basically forces child-Tony to hurt a captive Bucky. So.... If that's overly upsetting to you, best to skip this one.

 

 

Seven year old Tony clutched the toolkit he'd gotten for Christmas against his chest, dared to peek up at his father, then looked hurriedly away again.

Howard was striding at a brisk pace. Someday, Tony hoped to be just as tall as his father, but until then it was everything he could do to keep up without looking like he was jogging. Howard had already told him off once already, thinking Tony's overly-bouncing steps were about to turn to skipping, or something equally childish.

"This my place of business," Howard had snapped. "If you're not going to be serious, I'll send you back to wait in the car."

Horror had gripped Tony. Ever since he could remember, he'd wanted to see the inside of Stark Industries.  "No, I'll be good," he had promised.

After ages and ages of begging, Howard had finally consented to bring Tony along with him to work. Not only that, but he'd actually told Tony this morning over eggs and toast that he'd had an important task for him to fulfill. That it was time Tony started to pull his own weight. Tony had put together engines in the workshop for years, and redesigned a newer circuit board under Howard's eye. Now it was time to take the next step.

His mother had frowned at that, but Tony had known he was ready.

But they'd only gotten into the car, Howard driving alone without Jarvis, when he'd told Tony they were going to an offsite location instead of the main Stark facilities.

At first, Tony had been crestfallen. "But why can't I go to headquarters, like you?"

"It's a top secret location," Howard had said, not answering Tony's question at all. He did that a lot. "You will shut your eyes when I say, and not open them until I give you the word. Do you understand?"

"I'm notta blabber mouth!" Tony had protested. "I won't tell anyone where it is. I promise."

"Loose lips sink ships, boy. Do as I say."

Tony had, though the drive had taken an hour, and the sway of the car had made him feel a little sick to his stomach. He'd peeked once or twice by cracking open his eyelids the tiniest bit. But he hadn't seen any markers he knew of, only that they'd driven somewhere out of Manhattan. Brooklyn maybe.

Howard had parked the car into a nearly empty underground garage, and ordered Tony to open his eyes. They'd taken the elevator in silence.

Then it was row after row of long hallways, with the lighting overhead so spread out that it made the whole corridor look dim and unwelcome.

 _When I'm grown up and  in charge_ , Tony thought. _I'm fixing the lighting. First thing._ He clutched the toolkit a little tighter tried not to obvious about leaning away from the long shadows with their deep edges. He wanted to move closer to his father, but was afraid of being yelled at again.

They turned yet another corner, and there was a man waiting for them at the end of the hall. He was shorter than Howard, old, with a round face and glasses.

"Mr. Stark," the man greeted with an accent. Swedish, Tony guessed, though his tutors hadn't ever taught him in that language. He was learning French, Italian, and Japanese.

"Doctor Zola," Howard greeted. They shook hands.

"And my, who is this?" Zola asked in the fake surprise adults used sometimes when the asked rhetorical questions to children. He bent down on creaky knees to Tony's level. Up close, Tony could see the liver spots illuminated under the Florissant lights. Zola smelled bad, too. Like rotten teeth, and medical astringent. Still, Tony knew his manners and extended a hand just as he was taught.

"I'm Anthony Stark," he said, "But everyone calls me Tony. I'm gonna take over this whole place after my Dad retires."

He'd said those lines a dozen times for interviewers, in exactly the right tone he'd been coached. Howard wanted him to come off as 'intelligent' 'forceful' and 'precocious'.

Sure enough, Zola chuckled. "Continuing your father's great legacy? This is something we should all strive for. You've come to help us today, ja?"

Tony glanced up at Howard, who nodded.

"Yes, sir," Tony answered, squaring his shoulders.

"Good. Very good." Zola patted Tony twice on the shoulder, then rose, knees clicking with strain. He glanced up at Howard. "All has been prepared to your specifications."

Howard said, "Let's get to it, then."

Zola backed a few steps, then pushed a spot on the blank wall. Something clicked, and a seam appeared where there hadn't been one before.

Tony tried not to grin. A secret door!

The door slid aside to revel a darkened staircase going down.

Howard pushed Tony behind the shoulders, indicating he should move. They followed Zola, who walked slowly down the staircase. It was even more badly lit than the corridor, and put Tony in mind of adventure movies he'd sneaked seeing the TV when no one was around to yell at him for watching.

 _I'm like a famous explorer_ , he thought excitedly, wishing there was writing on the dank brick walls. Then he could pretend they were hieroglyphs and he and his father were the first in centuries to step foot in a pharaohs tomb. Zola could be their creepy guide.

The floor leveled out, and Zola flicked a switch. A single overhead light sputtered to life.

Along the walls were what looked like banks of computers, and in the middle of the room was a single chair. A reclined man was strapped into it.

Tony would have frozen, but the Howard's palm between his shoulders kept him moving forward.

The man didn't react as they approached, only stared up at the ceiling, his eyes half-shut. His brown hair was lank and fell past his chin. He was shirtless, and looked like he'd been hurt recently -- several places had been stitched up and were covered with butterfly tape. The weirdest thing about him, though, was his left arm, which looked like it was encased in steel. A red star gleamed on the shoulder.

As Tony was pushed closer, he saw that a chunk had been ripped free from the arm under the elbow. A gash, and inside he could see circuitry. Above the elbow, something had taken a chunk out of the arm. No, the arm wasn't encased in metal at all. It _was_ metal.

"D-dad...?"

"Steady now, son," Howard said. "He won't hurt you. He can't get past those straps, you see? You're safe."

"It is quite safe," Zola agreed. He strode over without worry. The man with the metal arm did nothing, just stared up at the ceiling, chest rising and falling evenly. "He has been heavily sedated for the procedure."

 _Procedure_? Tony turned the word in his head. That meant something medical, didn't it?

Howard, too, moved closer, and shot Tony an annoyed look when Tony didn't immediately follow. Obediently, Tony stepped up beside him.

Howard gestured to the arm. "Take a look, Tony. It's manufactured of my own design. It's fully articulated with his brain stem, with a natural range of motion and strength ten times an ordinary man. But notice how one of the steel tensile wires has been cut. It acts like a tendon. What do you think that would do?"

Tony's eyes traveled to the arm, to the man's blank face, then back again. "Why is he tied up?" he asked quietly.

"Tony," Howard's voice was sharp with disapproval. "Pay attention. I asked you a question."

Tony forced attention to the bionic arm. He made himself think of it like a problem in a book. "It... you'd have to use a servo to control the device. And if you cut a tensile wire... the arm wouldn't have any strength, like if someone's tendon's were cut?" he guessed.

"Exactly," Howard said. "Your job today is to repair the broken servo, and reconnect the wiring in the correct way."

"Me?" he asked in surprise.

"It's a simple fix. You've more than enough tools on hand, and I've included the replacement parts there." He nodded to a table Tony hadn't noticed until now. "It's the perfect training to get you started.'

"But... won't it hurt him?" Again, his scared gaze darted to the man, who hadn't reacted at all. "You... you said the arm was attached to his brain." Tony worked the problem out as he'd been taught, connecting A to B rapidly. "And if he can move it, control the functions with his brain, it has to feed back... so he can he could move it, so he feels stuff in return, right?"

"Don't be stupid. He's in pain _now_. You're not going to do worse by him--Don't give me that cow-eyed look. Stark's have iron in their spines, boy. Come here and take a closer look."

Tony did, though it felt like there were thousand pound weights on his ankles. Frustrated with his slowness, Howard grabbed Tony painfully around one skinny shoulder to pull him closer.

The man with the metal arm moved.

It wasn't much -- a sudden focus to his gray eyes, a twitch of fingers from his flesh hand, an aborted movement as if to sit up. Almost as if to stop Howard.

Without further ado, Howard let Tony go, reared back, and backhanded the man.

Stunned, Tony cried out. He'd never seen his father hit anyone before, not even him that time he accidently ran an engine without the right oil, and it seized up into slag.

The man's head whipped to the side. The flesh hand fell, slack, again.

"You hit him!" Tony felt stupid for blurting the obvious, but he was stunned. Rooted to the spot in shock.

Perhaps some of his horror showed on his face because Howard gave a derisive snort.

"He's a Soldier, Tony, and as such, you need to enforce discipline."

It didn't make sense. Suddenly, Tony didn't want to be in this cold, dank room. He'd never seen his father act like this -- he didn't want to see him hurt anyone. 

"Dad, I--I don't want to be here anymore. I--" Hot pricks started behind his eyes, and there was a red mark rising where his father had struck the Soldier, and Zola was staring at Tony. Staring at him like he was failing some sort of test.  "You fix the arm, instead. I'll watch. I promise I'll memorize everything you do, just don't make me--"

Howard took Tony by the shoulders again. The grip wasn't as painful, but it was firm. "Stop that sniveling and calm down."

Tony couldn't. His breath came out in gasps. "I wanna go home."

"You'll go home when your job is done. This is life, Tony. You can't just give up just because things become tough. What will you do when you're grown up, and people are looking to you for answers? Go and cry in a corner?"

Tony shook his head, dragging in deep breaths, trying to master himself. But he could feel himself shaking, and the man in the chair was shifting against the straps now, head flopping back and forth as if he were confused, and it was so horrible and wrong.

"But why can't you fix him?" Tony tried.

"Because someone must take over when I'm gone, don't you see? Sometimes I must be away on business. It's important the Soldier have a tech on hand." Howard gave a disgusted sigh, "Honestly Tony, I expected better of you. Not this whining."  

"Perhaps," Doctor Zola said, stepping forward, "the boy is merely shy, Howard."

"Shy? Nonsense. Tony's never been shy a day in his life."

"You say he is capable to repair the Asset, and I believe you. But our presence will not help, I think. All fledglings must eventually fly from the nest on their own."

"What are you saying?"

"Only that we give him time. A short amount, no more, to fix the arm. He can do so at his own speed. Make his errors without direct oversight. Without pressure."

It took Tony a moment to realize that Howard meant to leave him alone with the man with the metal arm, in the scary darkened room. Horror welled up inside him anew.  "No! Dad, don't go. I'll be good. Please!"

But it was as if his plea had made Howard's decision for him. He rose from Tony, and the places where he'd gripped him so hard felt suddenly cold. "I'm going to give you an hour, boy. And I expect to see that arm properly fixed. Do you understand?"

"Dad, no, please. I don't want--"

"Do you understand?" Howard repeated, and his tone made Tony shrink back a little. He'd learned a long time ago, ever since he was a baby, he didn't want to cross Howard when he had that sound in his voice.

"I understand."

Howard nodded once, then gestured to Zola. Together, they ascended the staircase. Howard turned at the top, looked meaningfully at his own watch..

"Dad!" Tony called as the door swung shut, but there was no reply. It closed, then locked with a click.

And Tony was alone with the Soldier with the metal arm.

Slowly, Tony turned to regard the man . He could just... not do anything. His father would get angry, but he got angry a lot.

Unless Howard went drinking with Doctor Zola. He was always meaner to Tony when he drank, or nicer, sometimes. Tony couldn't ever tell what he was going to get.

If he came back after he'd had a few whiskey's and discovered Tony hadn't done the work...

Hesitantly, Tony approached the table and picked up the spare parts his father had indicated. There was a battery powered soldering gun, extra solder (though Tony was always very precise, and never needed it at home unless he was 'screwing around' as if his father liked to say), two spare servos, a pack of resistors at several voltages, and a couple lengths of tensile wire.

 _The wire in his arm acts like tendons_ , Tony thought, picking it up. He wished he had an anatomy book. He had lots and lots of books at home, but those were on engines, computers, and other electronics. Not people.

And normally they had drugs to let people sleep during surgeries. Zola said the Solider had been sedated, but he sure didn't look like it.

As if on queue, there was a rustling movement from the chair -- the Soldier was casting back and forth, as if confused. His eyes roaming around the room. He grimaced and tried to sit up. The straps creaked ominously.

"No!" Tony blurted. "Don't!"

Howard had struck the Soldier when he'd moved -- was Tony supposed to do that? But even if he wanted to, Tony didn't see how. The Soldier was full grown and Tony... Tony was seven years, seven months and ten days. He hadn't even started growing hair on his face yet, even though he was sure it would be any day now.

The Soldier's eyes snapped to his, then looked hurriedly away.

"What's a pipsqueak like you doing in a place like this?"  The Soldier's voice was softer than Tony expected it to be. Soft, and strangely familiar though he didn't know how or why.

It gave him the little courage he needed to stiffen his spine. "I'm Tony Stark," he said clearly. "Howard Stark's my father and I... I'm supposed to fix your arm, but you've got to be still. Okay?" He nearly cringed as the last word slipped out. Howard had told him time and time again that a Stark didn't ask obedience. You had to assume it, and not give anyone the opportunity to say no.

The Soldier said nothing. But nor did he attempt to rise.

Taking a breath, Tony laid out his toolkit on the table and pulled the whole thing closer. The metal arm was reclined on the arm of the chair, turned so he could get to the gash.

"You've got some wire filaments cut," Tony said, because the silence in the dark room pressed all around him. He had to say something. "They, uh, act like tendons in your arm. Can you move your fingers?"

This time the Soldier's voice came out colder, emotionless. "Small muscle movements are non-functional."

"Yeah? See? I told you." Tony picked up a small pair of tweezers. There was a bit of metal plating bent into the gash. Carefully, he gripped the edges and tried to pull it back. He had to get the area clear of debris to work.

The Soldier inhaled sharply, flinching.

Tony's tools clattered to the ground as he jumped back. "Oh! Oh! Jeez, I'm sorry, mister."

The Soldier said nothing. He only stared at Tony, expression unreadable.

Carefully, Tony bent and gathered up the tweezers, twisting them nervously in his fingers. "You really have feeling in that thing?"

"Yes."

"Do you... can you shut it off? Do you know how?"

"No," the Soldier intoned.

Tony swallowed down a hot ball of sick that wanted to crawl its way up his throat. He looked to the door at the top of the stairs and wondered what would happen if he started pounding on it, and screamed for his father to let him out.

"I am required to be in peak condition," the Soldier said. Tony jerked his gaze from the door and back to the Soldier's stony face. "At all times."

Was he saying what he thought he was saying? Maybe his father was right. Maybe the Soldier wasn't human. "It..." Tony couldn't speak for a moment. "It's going to hurt."

The Soldier's eyes flickered. "Then," he said, "work quickly."

"Oh-Okay..." He hated the way his voice wavered, but he stepped forward again, tentatively placed his fingers on the cool metal surface. That didn't seem to hurt. _It's not a man,_ he told himself, not looking at the part where the arm joined the flesh. _It's a machine, and I can fix machines. I can fix anything._

This time Tony reached for the pliers. They were stronger, and he was going to keep his word. He was going to work fast.

This time, the Soldier didn't flinch nearly as hard when Tony bent back the ripped edge of metal. He was probably trying to hold himself still, for Tony's benefit. He didn't speak a word. But Tony couldn't block out the sound of his harsh breathing, like he wanted to scream, but wasn't allowing himself. Or tiny, involuntary grunts when Tony clipped away the broken wire, and stated soldering in the replacement.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Tony heard himself chanting. The servo inside was blackened -- overheated probably, from winding around a wire too fast with no force on it. Tony quickly switched it out, the new one clipped into place.

Tears dripped down his nose, but he had to keep going. He wasn't in pain, but hearing the Solider pant and heave next to him was almost the same thing, especially because Tony knew he was causing it. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

The wire was in and the new servo fit like a glove. The moment it snapped into place, the Soldier sagged, roughly, letting out a long breath.

Tony glanced up nervously into the Soldier's face and saw his eyes were closed. It looked like relief. The pain had stopped at last.

His own hand was shaking so badly he could barely bend the metal back into place, and the Soldier didn't react at all. Maybe there weren't as many artificial nerves there.

Done at last, Tony hurriedly backed away -- trembling all over, lightheaded, not sure if he wanted to puke or scream. His own breath came out in shuddering gasps. He bumped against the opposite wall and slid down, arms wrapping around his knees. He sobbed harder than he’d ever had in his life.

"If you keep carrying on like that, he'll hear you."

"What?" Tony warbled, looking up. The Soldier had turned his face to Tony. "My Dad?"

"Doctor Zola," the Solider said. The soft tone in his voice was back. "If he knows what'll break you, he'll do it again. Harder. Till there ain't nothing left."

Tony rubbed at his eyes with a corner of his sleeve. "I don't understand."

But the Solider turned his head away, and did not answer.

Not talking helped, though it took awhile for Tony to calm his breathing.

“Do you work for my father?” he asked. His voice sounded loud in the dark, dank room.

“Who is your father?” the Soldier asked.

He didn’t know? It was weird. Everyone who was anyone knew his father, and Tony had already been told he looked like him more times than he could count. “Howard Stark.”

“He is not my handler,” the Soldier intoned.

What is it his father had said? That Tony needed to be a tech for when he was gone?

 _No_ , he thought suddenly. Never. He was never ever doing this again. He was good at robots, but not ones attached to people. And especially not when they were tied down, and being hurt when he was “fixing” them.

He wasn’t sure if the hour was up or not, but it seemed to be that long. Tony was half tempted to go and examine the chair that the Soldier was retrained in. But a sick sense of shame kept him in place. The Soldier said he should work quickly -- and he had -- but Tony still knew that he hurt him. He wouldn’t blame the Soldier at all if he was angry with Tony.

There was the click and grind of a lock disengaging. Tony shot to his feet as the door at the top of the stairs swung open. Howard came down, looking unrufled and each step steady and just as put together as he’d been when he left. He hadn’t been drinking, then. Zola followed close behind. Tony thought he looked like a dog following his master.

“Well?” Howard asked.

“I did it. The servo needed replacing, and I reattached the tensile wire and soldered it in.”

Howard said nothing, but it was Zola who smiled. “Good. Very, very good. I knew you would succeed, Anthony.”

His praise raised the hair on the back of Tony’s neck. “Can I go home, now?” he asked.

He didn’t like how Howard looked to Zola, and didn’t answer his question. Instead he stepped to the Soldier, tapped something into the chair. With a whirr of electronics, it sat the Soldier up fully, then disengaged one of the restraints over the metal arm.

“What’s your status?” Howard asked.

“Fully functional,” the soldier replied, like a computer would do. Not a man. For the first time, Tony wondered if he had a metal brain as well. Maybe that was what the little gadgets above the headrest were for.

Then Howard led the Soldier through several arm movements to test Tony's repair job. Tony held his breath, but there were no catches or hesitations.

Then the Soldier said, "Is the child to be my new tech?" in a flat voice. There might have been disapproval in there, but he wasn't sure.

"You should be so lucky," Howard replied. "No, for now you will come to me. Only to me, when you're in need of repairs. Do you understand?"

"Yes," the Soldier said.

Tony had been staring at his shoes, but at this he looked up in surprise. Zola, too, seemed taken aback.

"Howard," Zola said, "the boy completed your test well within the time allotted."

"Not without a great deal of crying and carrying on," Howard said. "You heard, Zola, as well as I did."

Tony felt himself flush. He should have known there were microphones in the room. They'd probably heard everything he said -- all the time he had been crying. He looked down again, ashamed.

"He can be made stronger," Zola said. "You know the Red Room has had much success in that area."

"My son? In the Red Room? He is a Stark. He is meant to be a leader, not the type of creature that place turns out."

"I can do better, Dad!" Tony interrupted. He didn't know what the adults were talking about, exactly, but he wanted to live up to his father's expectations. And he wasn't wrong. He was a Stark. He could do anything.

To his surprise, the Soldier spoke up. "The Red Room would ruin the child."

Howard swung around to him, but the Soldier looked away, eyes fixed to the middle distance.

Tony held his breath, worried that Howard was going to strike the Soldier again, but he only turned away, shaking his head. "No," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "When he is older -- graduated from college. Twenty-one. Until then, he will attend boarding school. Get him out of his mother's skirts. That should toughen him up a bit."

Boarding school? Again hot tears pin-pricked behind Tony's eyes. He didn't want to start crying again, and prove his father right, but this wasn't fair. He'd done what he'd supposed to do! Why couldn't he go to that Red Room thing?

"Dad--" he started, "I'm sorry. Don't send me away! I--" but his throat felt too thick to continue. Howard didn't look at him, anyway.

"I'll prep the cryogenic chamber," Howard said. "Deal with the boy. Make sure he remembers none of this."

"What--?" Tony started, but his gaze had been on Howard and the Soldier, not on Zola, who had moved closer to him with syringe in hand.

He felt a sharp pin-prick on his neck, then the world went dark.

 

****

 

Tony woke in his bedroom. Jarvis, at his bedside, smiled at him.

"Awake at last, Young Master?"

Tony opened his mouth, but his tongue felt dry, his head stuffed with cotton balls. "Dad--?" he croaked, and he wasn't sure why.

"Easy now," Jarvis said. "You've been very ill. Slept the whole day away. Let me fetch you some tea. It will soothe that throat."

The whole day? But... Tony racked his sluggish brain. He was supposed to visit Stark Industries. His father had told him at breakfast, but after that... it was a blur.

"I'm sick?" he rasped. He felt sick. Sort of shaky, and his throat felt swollen like he'd been crying.

"Indeed. Your father brought you home straight away, he was most concerned." Jarvis offered Tony a cup of tea, and Tony took it mulishly.

Sick on the day he was finally supposed to see his father's work! It wasn't fair.

But the strange thing was, Tony wasn't all that eager to see Stark Industries. He got a shivery-bad feeling up and down his spine, thinking about it for weeks afterwards. Must be the flu.

From that day forward, things were different between himself and his father. He never looked at Tony the same way, never invited him down to his workshop to tinker. Shortly after, Tony found himself shipped off to a prodigious boarding school. Later, as an adult, Tony would see it as his father distancing himself from his only son.

And after the truth with HYDRA, Howard, and the Winter Soldier came out, he'd wonder if Howard had truly been shamed of Tony... or protecting him.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
